


Useless Drabble Dumping Grounds

by otterberries



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Humor, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 14:48:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6012235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otterberries/pseuds/otterberries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because every writer needs that place to dump their random ideas that are not good enough to be a full fic. Feel free to sort through this mess of random pairings, ratings, genres and or leave a request. Each drabble will have its stats listed at beginning.<br/>Index:<br/>1. Romerica<br/>2. FrUk<br/>3. AmeCan<br/>4. UK Bros<br/>5. GerIta<br/>6. GiriPan<br/>7. England</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bunnies and Chainsaw Massacres

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: General  
> Genre: Romance  
> Pairing: Romerica

They were like bunnies and chainsaw massacres. One adjusting his glasses with a twitching nose while across the Atlantic the other slashed people down with harsh criticism. One hopping around with bounds of energy while the other sat in the darkened corner waiting for a use. One having a fluffy, inviting nature while the other had a hard, impenetrable coating.

The world couldn't fathom how these two polar opposites could manage an afternoon together without causing a riot, so they stopped trying. They stopped noticing the small caresses the Italian secretly gave the American when he thought no one was looking. They ignored the sparkle in the blonde's eyes when his partner indirectly complimented his actions. Behind a wall watching the two interact, they now soaked these small subconscious events as common logic. As long as it didn't affect them, who cares what the hot-headed Italian and hero-complexic American did. Besides, the world just assumed it was some whirlwind romance of lust teetering on the edge of collapse once one partner found someone better.

Yet, when the two laid down on the couch, America occasionally stealing a sip of Italian soda from the surprised Romano, quoting The Godfather lines with perfected synchronism, the chainsaw powered down long enough for the bunny see it's beautiful, shining chrome. And the chainsaw noticed how quiet and intelligent bunnies can truly be.


	2. The Frenchman in the Fireplace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Gen  
> Genre: Humor  
> Pairing: FrUk   
> This can be taken as either a lover's spat FrUk or frienemies debate FrUk. Whatever your little heart desires.

England comfortably sat at one end of the circular table while France occupied the spot opposite, making the table some form of a wooden English Channel. The were arguing; nothing unusual except for the fact that England had the upper hand on his southern neighbor.

"Mon dieu, I do not fish to hear anymore of your rambles about a mad Martian with a blue telephone box!" France whined, covering his ears from the English accented strings of information about moving statues and gifts of air.

"Blasted! it is _not_ a bloody telephone box, but a police box. Remember those things I would shove you in for public harassment? And The Doctor is from Gallifrey, not Mars!" England defended, thoroughly enjoying the discomfort the Frenchman was in.

Upon hearing the escalating argument across the room, America decided it was his duty to intervene. He approached the two elder nations and sent a quick glance at France before settling his mirth-filled eyes on the other. Smacking his palms on the table as if his booming voice didn't draw enough attention, America asked, "Hey Artie! Is Francis your Madame Pompadour?"

France had no idea what America meant by that reference to his past court member, but judging by the stuttering red mess across the table this is one Doctor Who element France was willing to learn about.


	3. Say You'll Haunt Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: AmeCan  
> Genre: Hurt/Comfort/ Family  
> Rating: T (language)
> 
> Inspiration song is Say You'll Haunt Me by Stone Sour.  
> By the speed reaching triple digits, I am referring to miles per hour. 100 mph = ~161 kmh.

On some deserted dirt road away from the stress called other people sped a sputtering, lucky-to-be-moving red pickup truck. Both whirlwinds of dust from the unpacked trail and bits of rust from the weathered truck flung backwards due to the rocketing speeds. Singing to the steering wheel and front air bag, Alfred and Matthew, completely off pitch and not giving a single fuck to the earless crop stalks lining the road, fist pumped and nodded their blonde heads to the chords and beat of one of their shared favorite genres of music: rock.

"Say you'll haunt me! Together! Together! We'll be together, together! FOREVER!!" The two North Americans cried as wildly as their disheveled hair that was waving in the wind -as if the strands were dancing- from the open windows. Once the song ended, the radio was set back to its normal volume. Only rock songs deserved the crank.

Alfred, who suddenly became uncharacteristically quiet, focused on the nothingness past the car hood, letting his lead foot accelerate the truck so much that full control of the vehicle became difficult. The minute swerving to remain strait coupled with his brother's lack of words worried the Canadian.

In a calming voice, "Al, is something troubling you?" Matthew asked, anchoring himself to the oh-shit bar above the side door.

Torn from his mental prison, Alfred noticed they were, somehow, well in triple digit speeds and, being his impulsive self, floored the breaks. Inertia propelled the two nations forward, wishing for the blondes to continue their strait path; however, the seat belts crossing their torsos made the crashing through the windshield a heavy jerk.

Blinking a few times to regain his surroundings, Alfred commented, "Hahaha! Thank god for seat belts, right Mattie?" Alfred looked to his side at his Northern brother.

Alfred didn't care about car safety at this moment. He didn't care that they almost broke a leg in a rolling inferno and he didn't care that they were a stopped target in the middle of the road. At least, Matthew believed these statements were true because it was the Canadian's nagging that made the American buckle up for once and Alfred did stupid stuff that could stop his heart daily.

But most importantly, Alfred was nipping at his bottom lip. He was apprehensive about something and Alfred never worries unless it is important.

And important things have to be bluntly and forcefully pried at or else the American will twist the words and situation around in his favor.

"Alfred F. Jones," Matthew started, using his brother's full name and direct eye-contact to express the seriousness, "What are you thinking about?" Matthew's face softened as he but forth the guilt-trip. "You can tell me anything. Al, I promise I won't judge."

For a brief moment, the nervous lip-biting halted as Alfred adjusted his glasses; another nervous tick but not as serious as the first. He glanced away from Matthew's piercing stare to the free, blue sky past the window, examining the carefree clouds lazily moseying across the expansive sky.

It was a several minute silent stalemate before Alfred responded. He looked towards his neighbor and quickly asked: "Hey Mattie, we'll always be together, right?"

The older Canadian could see the fighting innocence and insecurity within Alfred's expressive eyes. They both knew that forever is an impossibly long time, but America is a land of idealists.

America burned his capital from war. America indirectly subjects him to being overlooked from politics. America makes him pull his follicles clear out of his scalp from obliviousness.

Despite these negatives, Matthew grasped Alfred's hand and intertwined their fingers. The ease of them fitting together peacefully matched their shared boarder.

"Al. We have been through a lot together, and some of that past would make others hate each other. But here we are, on a road trip with nothing but the other person to depend on. We are best friends that are brothers and I intend to keep that true for as long as possible. Do you?"

Just as Matthew expected, Alfred took the challenge. He immediately brightened like the everlasting lights of Time Square, squeezed the Canadian's hand in understanding, and sent a thankful grin towards the Northerner.

Even though they've been at war, they share the longest undefended boarder. Even though they differ politically, they like similar things.

"Just don't haunt me, Mattie. I hate ghosts."

And even though his obliviousness causes hair loss, more often than not, it causes Matthew to smile.


	4. Scotland's Nursery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T for language  
> Genre: Humor / Family  
> Characters: Scotland with the rest of UK plus Ireland
> 
> Allistor Kirkland = Scotland  
> Abigail Kirkland = Northern Ireland  
> Patrick Kirkland = Republic of Ireland  
> Dylan Kirkland = Wales

Allistor has been kicking the same coke can (despite people being in the way, he'd just aim between their legs and continue on the other side) since he got back from the small store around the corner from his brother's house.

He didn't want to be in England. Didn't want to be anywhere near English soil and would much rather be giving Nessie a fiddle tune. The only reason, other than to give is dear brother a checkup, he was stepping on all the cracks in the sidewalks of London was because the first games of the World Cup has begun. It has been a tradition for their entire, dysfunctional family to watch the first day's and last day's games together.

But football has no connection to why he was outside carrying a box of whiskey and hitting a man in the crotch with a punted coke can.

It was eleven o'clock this morning and the only thing Allistor wanted was some nice, cold alcohol. When he entered the kitchen and opened the fridge: no Guinness, gin, whiskey, beer, wine, vodka, rum, nor goddamn tequila. Safe to say, the fridge hinges died this morning.

So here comes Allistor with his own, personal box of whiskey that he is going to drink in front of his alcoholic brothers and sister, amusing himself with their disgruntled facial expressions and the possibility of a fight over the golden liquid. And perhaps that fight will be just as heated as the one between Abbey and Arthur when the former changed her name to a mocking difference of the latter's.

That was a good day for chaos, and today will be as well because England vs. Spain is the first game.

Once he trudged up the steps onto the grand porch of Arthur's Victorian-styled house, Allistor barely turned the knob all the way before ripping the heavy, ornate door open, leaving another set of scratch marks on the wooden doorframe paneling. He took one look into the foyer of the house and furrowed his large eyebrows.

Abbey, no bigger than a lamb, was pushing Patrick who then used the force of sitting back up to nudge the child-sized Irishwoman in retaliation. This process seemed to have been going on for awhile because their timing was almost mechanical as Abbey just knocked Patrick back on his ass. A few paces away, Dylan sat cross-legged with his grapefruit-sized eyes staring at a wheat-blonde head, not knowing what to do with himself. In the center of all this madness was Arthur; hunched over one of his dusty voodoo books that has seen better centuries. Hilariously enough the books were almost bigger than the Englishman. The ceramics containing hell knows what surrounding the studying Englishman could use a tune-up as well, both in the looks and smell department. Those purple fumes emitting from the cracks are not natural to a healthy bowl.

Northie, Southie, Dill-Pickle, and Fairy are sodding babies, Allistor thought.

Once four sets of varying shades of green looked his way, Allistor straitened his back, slammed the door shut, took out a fresh bottle of whiskey, and backtracked off the porch with nothing more but a: "Fuck that."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Strong T borderline M  
> Warnings: Mentions of suicide. Unhappy Ending  
> Genre: Angst, Human AU  
> Characters: Italy (Feliciano), Romano (Lovino), Germany (Ludwig)

I opened the door to be greeted by a wide, open smile and distant, brown eyes. "Lovi! You returned!" Feliciano quickly backed out of his chair and launched himself at me, his arms wrapping around my waist in a death-grip.

"Unng. Feli, what did I say about personal space?" Despite feeling uncomfortable, I allowed the welcomed contact.

Reluctantly, he let go but retained skin contact by holding my hand as he dragged me back to the table, still cutting off circulation to my hand. "Oh, Lovi, I can't wait till we can cook together again. Just like when we were younger."

I let out a deep sigh and tried to remain patient and understanding. "Feliciano. You need to understand I'm not-"

Suddenly cutting me off, Feliciano reached up and poked my forehead. "You know Lovi, you do look taller! I'm glad that rope technique of yours worked. It even drew a bit of media attention, maybe you could market it someday!"

I couldn't say no to that innocent, misplaced smile, but wasn't my job to break. No matter how much I wanted and needed to.

I was just here for a simple, short test. A lab rat. A lab rat that just failed their one task and collapsed on the ground dead.

"Feli... I'm sorry to say this but I can't stay. But I promise I'll be back tomorrow."

Expectantly, Feliciano was quiet for several minutes before speaking. "... Ve. Ok ... Lovi. Just, please come back." Small tears were stained in his eyes.

I nodded to him and let myself out, the same beaming smile and hazy eyes watching my exit. Awaiting my next arrival.

Just as I closed the soundproof door, "How did it go, Ludwig?"

Recognizing my name, I looked up and, for a brief moment, believed it was my boyfriend saying that last word.

If only Feliciano said those trailing two syllables...

Dr. Wang's calculating eyes sucked up my body language, already knowing my answer before I shook my head. The same deduced answer for three months.

"He's. He's still the same. Confused? In denial? I honestly don't know anymore." Dr. Wang has already seen my tears, what more is my despair.

A few blonde locks of hair escaped their gel prison and hung loosely in front of my eyes, teasing with their closeness, yet not acting as they were suppose to.

I felt a comforting pressure on my shoulder; the same action I get every time hopeful, brown eyes on my back get cut off by a metal door. "Ludwig. Feliciano will let his brother go. He just needs time."

"... No doctor. I should start learning Italian."


	6. Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Gen  
> Genre: Fluff/ some romance  
> Pairings: Giripan, implied GerIta

As soon as Japan opened the door to his house, he was eternally grateful for the familiar four walls. As host of the most recent meeting, which ended today and finally gave him a break from the antics of the other nations, he couldn't wait to loose himself in a good book, some salted fish, and a comfy couch.

The one thing that slightly disappointed him was Greece's lack of showing up to the meeting. Seeing Italy and Germany was great, they were his two closest friends, but Greece was ... different. Not having those green eyes either closed with content, looking off into space, or focused on himself made the meeting slightly lonelier.

But Japan had presentations to organize so he couldn't afford too much time on the thoughts, despite them still lingering in the back of his head the entire meeting. With Italy distracting Germany by kissing the blond every time he opened his mouth, a couple that Japan shipped since WWII, the other nations depended on him to get stuff done. At least until America took over, which happened a few minutes after he began talking. But now that that stuff was over with, a nap sounded nice.

He has been spending too much time with Greece.

After taking off his shoes and loosening his tie, Japan turned the corner into his main room to find the man of this thoughts unconscious on his couch.

Worry broke his neutral expression as Japan raced towards the side of the sofa, berating himself the entire time for not calling Greece to see if he was ok. He crouched by the man's side and immediately placed two fingers beneath his jaw for a pulse and ignored the warm feeling of the skin to skin contact. A steady, light thump-thump eased Japan's worry some, but just to be safe, he also decided to test Greece's breathing.

Standing back up, Japan carefully positioned his ear above Greece's slightly parted mouth, hyper aware of how close he was to the brunet. He took a gulp of air to steady his frazzled nerves just at the time that a soft puff of air caressed his ear.

Good, so Greece was still well and breathing. And most certainly not dead...

But some warm, wet _thing_ quickly trailed from the lobe of his ear to the tip. Japan let out a squeak and was positive his face was as red as the rising sun, pulling away from the foreign object that defiled his sensitive ear.

He straitened to look into the unmoving, innocent face of Greece: mouth slightly parted, eyes scrunched slightly at the edges, and brown bangs just barely covering his eyebrows. He looked exactly how he looked ten seconds ago.

But Japan knew better, as soon as he would turn his back, Greece's mouth would twitch upward in a small, satisfactory smile. And as he left the room to grab Greece a blanket, he turned around to see that miniature curve that gave him butterflies. He would never blame Greece for his odd quirks.

Surprising Japan was just something his boyfriend liked to do.


	7. When Englishmen Get Bored

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T for mild language  
> Genre: Humor  
> Characters: England with mentioned others

"And as you can see, by this color coordinated bar graph, the levels of tuna fished by maritime countries since 2008 has blah been blah blah and this leads blah to a decreasing blah blah in fracturing blah blah blah blah blah blah..."

England stopped paying attention. Frankly, he didn't give a bloody fuck about tuna levels at the moment so long as there was plenty of cod to go around. He has a raging headache and it is France's fault. Even if the Frenchman was nowhere near England last night as he proceeded to drain the pub of any and all rum.

England needed something to distract himself for the next antagonizing number of hours until the meeting was over. He watched as America fearlessly stood up, took the speaking stand, and began voicing his ludicrous ideas in front of all the nations who probably wanted to maim him one way or another. Whether England wanted to admit it or not (or not), America was brave. Stupidly brave. And chivalrously helps old ladies cross the street.

Snorting to himself for stooping this low for entertainment, England flipped to a new sheet of paper and made four columns headed with the four Harry Potter houses: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw. He couldn't believe he was doing this as he scribbled down America's name under Gryffindor. He already categorized America in that house back when he read the first book, but might as well make it official by writing it down.

So thus, England began categorizing the entire world into these four columns.

The next person to take the stand was Estonia. England didn't know the eastern European nation well; he did know Estonia liked learning to add to his intelligence and was subtly witty. Ravenclaw. He also put Germany, Iceland, Japan, Norway, France (the wanker), and Austria down for similar reasons.

Sitting to his left, Switzerland was muttering clever ways to save money under his breath so England wrote his name down in Slytherin. As an afterthought, he also wrote Lichtenstein's name underneath. He figured either Lichtenstein would beg the Sorting Hat or Switzerland would threaten the hat to put her in the same house as her brother.

His Hufflepuff column was empty, so England began with some countries he felt confident would be there. Italy was listed first for his patient, caring nature, though he did lack the loyalty at times. Following Italy was Canada with his high levels of loyalty. The boy did remain faithful to the crown much longer than his brother did. Belgium, Seychelles, and Ukraine were sweet, hard-working girls so he wrote their names down next. Latvia means well so he followed. As for Greece, Netherlands, Lithuania, and Poland, he really didn't know what to do with them so he just dumped them in Hufflepuff.

When in doubt, dump them in Hufflepuff.

Unless they are Romano who was dumped in Slytherin because none of the other houses seemed to work. Concerning the Italian, he is somewhat resourceful. Back during World War II where the bloody hell did he get that phone anyways?

Russia, China, Hong Kong, and Sweden also became Slytherins for they can be conniving little gits at times. Belarus and Turkey became the next Slytherins because they are quite ambitious when they want to be.

The next speaker up was South Korea. He'd guess Gryffindor because South Korea stands up for his beliefs of everything being made by him with utmost determination. Prussia also made the Gryffindor list because he doesn't back down from a fight no matter how miniscule it is. Just for his own amusement, he also put Sealand down. The little git just won't give it up with the nation status! Hungary, Australia, and Cuba also became Gryffindors.

As the next presenters came and went: Egypt became a Ravenclaw, Finland and Spain Hufflepuffs, and Denmark a Gryffindor. He put Romania and Bulgaria as Ravenclaws because there were already too many Hufflepuffs.

England knew he was missing some nations but all the marmite in the world couldn't make him care. He felt productive despite not absorbing a single word from the previous presentations. After scribbling his name down in Slytherin simply because it was his favorite house, England closed his notebook with a clear head


End file.
